Lost in you
by WrittenInCrayon
Summary: Castle writes Kate a letter, set season 7 episode 1: You're the only person brave enough to keep me sane through this. So from here in this damp basement smelling of rat pee and cigarette smoke, on the back of the slip of paper that holds my prepared vows, hopeful and simple in neatly typed print, but suddenly lacking truth; here are the things I thought I'd have forever to say.


Kate,

you're the only person brave enough to keep me sane through this; thoughts of our lives together are the only crazy fantasy I want to think about right now. And although I'm braced for the moment you come crashing through the door, and I'm still trying to work out if it'd be possible for us to get married next weekend instead, I want to be ready, because I've come to realise that sometimes the story just ends midsentence and there's nothing we can do to stop it. So from here in this damp basement smelling of rat pee and cigarette smoke, on the back of the slip of paper that holds my prepared vows, hopeful and simple in neatly typed print, but suddenly lacking truth; here are the things I thought I'd have forever to say.

...It's your bravery that's held me through every tough case we've faced; the knowledge that you do this every day only to return the next looking refreshed and as lovely as always has remained a constant comfort. I thought that by now I'd have inherited some of that strength, but here I am as terrified as ever. To say I screamed like a girl the moment before Gorilla Hands knocked me over the head would be an insult to women everywhere.

How do you do it Kate? When we first met, I'd imagine you came home, poured yourself a hot bath and let your fears wash away with the water as it turned to lukewarm. Beckett would dive into the world of fiction where evil never reigned free for long. But as she read my books, submerged in soapy water and classic literature; even when she read books staring her alter-ego, she never realised that it's her who is the real hero.

Beckett was and is a razor edged beauty with sharply styled hair and pursed lips. I've grown so accustomed to soft flowing curls and lazy Sunday mornings with you sprawled across our bed in one of my crumpled shirts that it's hard to believe you're the same person as you were when I first laid eyes on you.

I said once that there's always a story. I think I spent so long simplifying people to understand their actions that I forgot what it was like to meet someone real. Before I met you I'd carelessly write a back-story, like adding the simple clarity to a character _I_ didn't understand; needed to simplify. I'd say tragedy adds depth; builds character. I really did have no idea. Now I've come to realise that seeing you completely has resulted in my falling in love with more than one amazing woman. Bear with me on that one.

Although at first I spent most days with untouchable detective Beckett, Kate was never far away. It was as if I was staring at something until it blurred in reverse; like I was waiting for the image to come into focus. I'd catch glimpses of someone I already loved: stories of motorbikes and handcuffs: a hinted love of comic books, mysterious tricks with ice cubes: the lingering scent of cherries and the promise of more. I'd call for her when Beckett wouldn't listen, just as she begged for Rick when unreliable Castle wasn't enough; the real people who'd remained untouched by the rest of the world and not the faces we wore like armour. Back when we couldn't say why we needed each other the way we did.

And even now you leap back to the first year we met when you roll your eyes at my theories and then a moment later Kate catches her soft bottom lip between her teeth and smiles, and I feel ungrateful for having forgotten for even a moment that there's more to magic than disappearing rabbits and top hats. I could write a thousand books and never find the words to describe what it is to hear you laugh; none of my crazy theories even fathom to understand why you chose me, not even the one where the rest of the human race is wiped out by zombies. And when Kate offers me a shy smile so different to the tired half-smiles Beckett used to threaten my flirting with and you easily offer away yet more pieces of yourself, I struggle to comprehend how even now you manage to amaze and inspire me every day.

Sometimes I wonder what Beckett would think of Kate after, of course, she'd doubted the state of your mental health when agreeing to marry me, your blood alcohol level perhaps... I imagine she'd think Kate careless and maybe even a little reckless, but I also know that she'd admire her; admire everything Kate has accomplished to get here, admire how happy and careless and reckless you are, letting yourself love someone as completely as you love me.

Ah Beckett, I almost miss her... But every now and then I'm lucky enough to get a glimpse of the stern woman I feel so completely in love with. When we're at the precinct on a particularly tough case and your brow furrows, and you stand straight in your towering heels I'm consumed with the need to hold you as you are in that moment: troubled, guarded Beckett. And yet every night when we come home I'm so relieved when Kate returns, and you slip off your heels and pad barefoot towards me, with a sparkle in your eyes and a bounce in your step. I honestly don't know how you do it: let your guard fall so unceremoniously, in the start maybe you couldn't. Or maybe Kate was always there, waiting for someone half deserving of her unconditional love; hidden behind a wall I was too idle to see past. I think that's why I chose to write to Kate; she's the part of you that loves me the most; she's who I've been looking for all these years, the rest was pure good fortune.

If I'd known what I do now I don't think I'd have lasted as long as I did. If I'd known I could wake up every morning to your perfect smile I don't think I'd have refrained from telling you how I felt before I had realised what it meant. One thing is for certain: I'd have started writing romance novels; the dreary, unbearably soppy kind my mother reads, because I was unable to keep Rook away from Nikki long enough for either of them to solve a case. Not like that, you filthy woman.

Sometimes I wake up early and sit in the half- darkness, you know those few moments in the early morning when your brain works faster than it should and you start to question the origin of the universe, and you're just so awake you could run a marathon if only your bed wasn't so warm... Even when I wake up and wonder I look over to you and suddenly it's like the world stops spinning, and who cares how it came into being because it did and it lead to this moment of silence before the sun has risen completely. Even now I feel unworthy of these moments, as if I'm intruding on something private. But when you open your hazy eyes and a small smile graces your lips, your peaceful features so different to Beckett's that you might as well be completely different people, and then I remember that I'm allowed to love you now; that you somehow feel the same way, and I'm finally allowed to drown in the waves of adoration that crash over me with every blink of your soulful eyes.

And I know I don't tell you this often enough; but it was all so worth it. Fighting for you was a painful pleasure. And I realise now that I needed to fight, until finally I was strong enough to hold us both up on those days you let yourself fall into my arms. You peeled away the tabloids and the rumours until you found the person the world had forgotten, and I'm so selfishly glad that I'll die this person, be it today or in fifty years: I'll fade out having been this average person who was somehow worthy of you.

I'm not saying that I'd be happy to go, you have to know that I'm fighting, Kate; if this is it know I'm leaving you with the story of how much I love you; that there's no denying I want more than this abrupt ending. I wish I could be there to meet my wife: Katherine Castle; the anxious mother who worries about our children on their first day of school; who claps the loudest when they win the talent contest and signs up to coach the soccer team by my side. I'm not giving up hope, Kate; I'm looking forward to drinking juice boxes and eating pack lunches that taste like sand with you by my side; with and you in a flowing floral dress and our children squealing and excited in the sea. I look forward to solving crimes when we need hearing aid in interrogation, and watching you kick butt with a walking stick in one hand and a gun in the other. You may think I'm being over-dramatic here, but I honestly don't think that a little thing like old age could stop detective Beckett from kicking butt.

Somehow my mother has only ever seen you as Katherine, in that knowing way she does; the way your dad only sees Katie the little girl, an innocent, playful variation of you I see every time you dance with me in the living room, slipping in fluffy socks and giggling gleefully in a way I know Beckett would resent. If only I'd known how adorable Katie is when she's tired or how she sings in the shower to awful the 80s songs I thought you'd hate... Let's just say Beckett would've never heard the end of it.

Some nights I'll come home from poker to find Katie baking, a thick layer of icing sugar coating every available surface and the warm air smelling sweet and delicious, but you've ended up eating half the cake mix before you even put it in the oven, and you protest innocently that the recipe lied when I ask why there are only four cupcakes when there should be twelve, and I taste chocolate on your lips when I cup your flower dusted cheeks and kiss you, brimming over with love for every version of you...

You're probably wondering why I chose to spend all this time writing about you: about us. So here it is: I need you to remember how I see you when I'm no longer here to remind you; so that you get dressed every morning and fight through the dark days and fall hopelessly in love again and again, whether it's with people, or the way the snow falls in the winter, because if I'm gone you can't lose Kate, gorgeous, reckless, _happy_, Kate. I know you're going to want to trap her behind that wall again but you can't; not this time. So let it hurt; let the pain scream that you're alive; still fighting: still feeling, the way only Kate knows how.

You'll resent this now: resent me for writing it; but I will fade from your memory, and I need you to know that that's okay. All I ask is that you always remember yourself the way I will: with glittering eyes and unwavering strength and kindness that remains even when your name changes; it's all just you, as complicated and extraordinary as I could've ever imagined, and I promise to never tire of your mystery, for longer than I live: each name given like a clue and I've fallen deeper with every letter and as long as I'm lost in you; trapped in those smiles I love and the heart I don't deserve, you'll never lose me completely. I'll be there when you look, happy to be right there with you, always.

**This was inspired by an amazing Sierria-Jae fanfic To Miss Pillsbury and Mrs Schuester which made me think about the character development of Kate and how names are used in the show. I got a little carried away though- it was only meant to be a page long... **

**Thanks to those of you who read, favourite and reviewed my last fanfic, it's nice to know people are reading. Thanks!**


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